Peter the Valor, A Divergent Story
by Trisforce
Summary: Peter tells the whole Divergent story, chapter by chapter in his point of view. The Candor 16 year old known as Peter Hayes realizes his true future as a Dauntless transfer, tagging along with his lackeys, Drew and Molly. Will he make it out alive, all while vying to become #1, always losing to the Stiff known as Tris? *SLIGHT* Petris and every other ship is the same as in story.
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry this is so short, but I'm working chapter-by-chapter in Tris format. Also, if you're worried about the Peter/Tris, let me tell you, it is so slight, but it's needed. I DO NOT SHIP IT. Don't even worry about it, really, it's probably not even noticeable. Not like Peter is observant anyways. Enjoy~**

* * *

I sigh, putting the towel over my face to dry it, eyeing my flaws in the mirror. Today is the aptitude test, to see one- or more, in an impossible theory- one of the factions. Dauntless- the one I know I'll get, full of brave blowhards, Candor- the one I inhabit and take _very _good use in the honesty policy, Amity- the kind hippies, Erudite- the intelligent over-achievers, or Abnegation- the selfless doubters.

"Peter, Drew and Molly are here," my father figure says below me.

"Give me a second." I say, raking my hands through my hair, trying to position it as best as I can. No matter where I go, it gleams in the light with my eyes.

Sure, I don't _know _my test scores, but I'll get Dauntless, I'm sure. I'm badass enough. I'm violent enough.

_We do not believe in living comfortable lives._

I don't. Which is what I live in now. Everybody being so honest...

_We do not believe that silence is useful._

I'd rather you scream in agony in action.

_We do not believe in good manners._

This I know. Honesty comes hand in hand with this.

_We do not believe in empty heads, empty mouths, or empty hands._

This I could care less about.

_We do not believe that learning to master violence encourages unnecessary violence._

Unless you're me. But then again…I'm me.

_We do not believe that we should be allowed to stand idly by._

Hell-to-the-yeah right there.

_We do not believe that any other virtue is more important than bravery._

I'm cruel. I have no conscience for the weak, those around me. I'm your worst nightmare, lurking in the lines between honesty and reality. I am Peter Hayes.

* * *

I trudge downstairs, my posse in the hall waiting for me.

Our last day together, but I dare not say goodbye, no. That is a sign of cowardice, and a true statement at that. I am aware 'goodbye' means remorse, regret, loathing, all _nasty _things. If I stayed here, in Honestyland, I'd be obligated to tell them so, even if Drew became Abnegation and Molly became Amity- all of what I would suspect from the aptitude tests.

They nod slowly in unison. They know. It's our last beat down from the Amity kid around the block.

"Ready for a Beat-down?!"

* * *

A parent glares at me, then back to the kid.

"It was him, I swear!" the kid known as Jake whines as he holds up a towel to his bloody nose.

If I was having it my way I'd be in chloroform.

She then glares at me, once again.

"Ma'am, it was him, honest to God truth." I say, trying not to sound bored. I've mastered this, and it's the last time I'll _ever _use it. I've even learned to cope with Molly and Drew ditching, running before trouble. Pussyfoots.

This woman had obviously not been in the Erudite faction, because she has not scanned me over, for she says, "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I am Candor, ma'am." Candors do not lie.

The lady solemnly nods as she walks away, guiding the kid elsewhere. All I got was a hit to the jaw, what a lame child. I could've easily knocked him out, but then I'd be guilty. I always prefer the Amity children anyways, I revolt the faction and they can't fight very well. Poor them.

* * *

I try to remain my posture as I get in the bus. It's quite difficult to find a seat, so I don't even try. I have to stand and hold the metallic bar, adjusting my black slacks along with the while belt. Today I will figure out if my last three weeks reciting the Dauntless manifesto in my mirror as I was my face have been a lie. I will figure out if I've been a lie.

I will figure out if my lie has been a truth.

Tomorrow I have my choosing ceremony.

The one where I will pick Dauntless, no matter what.

I glance out my window. Each building is slurring in a fast motion, passing by the places I live by. The Hub, and in ancient History, the Sears Tower (ha. The one time I _did _listen to Faction History class), the needle looking statue I call The Syringe, although nobody else seems to notice it, and the train tracks I vie to ride on one day. They elevate enough to stop right in front of our school, the one that's split into levels. Upper Level, Mid-Level, and Lower Level.

I usually don't see beauty in most things, but I find the school very exquisite. It's glass and steel structure, the statue the badass Dauntless play on, the fumes of exhaust and over chocolate cologne.

Our classes are split today, not that I care. More time for the tests.

I walk into the building, knocking people over to get into my Languid Science class. Snooze, you lose. Caring for these people is useless practice.


	2. Chapter 2

**If you are curious as to why Peter is always looking in his reflection, it gets told later. Also why he's so prideful, yadayadayaddaa. (:**

* * *

After lunch, the tests begin. I lean my elbows on the long table I inhabit, glaring at my other faction members. I am aware that the chance of me getting tested by an Abnegation are higher than the one of the Erudite, but I'd consider myself lucky if I got the Erudite man. Nobody can even prepare for these tests, so what's the point in worrying?

I stop glaring at my faction, the black and white slurring into the grey that I notice. There's nothing even remotely interesting there. Monochrome junkies, secretly wishing for attention but getting none.

Then I glare at the Erudites, the blue and faces stuffed with books, preying for more intelligence. It's so _stupid. _What does academia have to do with living?

"Yo, Peter, do you think you'll get Amity?" Drew jokes right next to me as I advert my gaze to the hippies in the floor.

"No." I say. "That's more you,"

"Heh. Drew you got burned~" another member of my faction, Paul, says. I wish Paul wasn't such a push-over. His un-sharp features and dull blue eyes with his shaggy brown hair don't help him at all.

"Whatever," Drew scoffed, poking me in the spine. "What do you think you'll get, then?"

"We _can't talk about that," _Paul says, stunned as a rock.

"I'm getting Erudite," I say, adjusting my fake glasses, focusing on the badass Dauntless members.

The black clad of them makes me smile. They don't take shit. One of them nods at me as he knocks down somebody's house of cards, smirking like an egomaniac. Unlike us, they don't have _customs _for these events, it's just go with the flow. We have to debate, the Abnegation have to stay still, the Erudite must read, and the Amity have to be as cheerful as a dandelion.

"Caleb Prior."

I huff. Of course the Abnegation are going now. I turn back to my faction, bored, and look at a brown skinned girl I know as Christina.

"Do you think the factionless will accept a blowhard like you?" she asks harshly, tapping her hair.

"The Dauntless might," I say over-confidently, licking my lips. She is normally much nicer. So nice I would think she'd check out Amity.

* * *

It feels like forever until I was called.

"Peter Hayes," the Abnegation man calls my name with such boredom.

I get up, as I should, directed into a hallway of mirrors. Unlike the glass that separates my school apart, these are the reflections of our soul, or future. That's why they're only used for the Aptitude tests. They're us, how we want to see us.

Like for the last few weeks, I see a stable man in a Dauntless uniform, hair tattered, and a nice black eye. Of course, that's not me now. It's my future.

I spare one glance at Molly, who's been walking here with me the whole time.

"Good luck, Peter." She says as she doesn't look back.

"…Good…luck." I say in a questionable sneer. I'm going to get the Dauntless. Why can't I act like it now? I'm sadistic enough. And besides, I won't see her again.

Rip the bandage off quickly.

I walk into my spacious room, with an Erudite man in the middle, leaning on the chair with his face buried in a book.

"Peter, sit." He directs, adjusting his spectacles. I see his hair is a flaming red, streaked with orange and yellow. He's actually quite tan, which is shocking considering he looks like a natural redhead. He doesn't seem like the status-quo Erudite, but at least he's stern and calm. It can distract me as I sit down on the metal contraption of the chair and look at myself.

I might be addicted to looking at myself, so what?

I need to see Dauntless to be Dauntless.

"Are you excited?" he asks as I continue to look at myself, my hands framing my jaw. I look like a mi between a checkerboard and a crossword puzzle. But at least I have the black. I'm halfway there, blurred between truth and bravery.

Yes, I am excited. I can know my reality has been truth all along. That's what I want. Isn't it?

"Sure," I say. "Say…you don't look like a typical Erudite, ya know."

"The name's Ed." He says as he lightly pushes my head back into the headrest. "The tests don't have to change your option, you know that, correct?"

I groan. "Whatever,"

"Ya ready?" he asks, pulling out a tube of clear liquid.

I analyze it. I can see my reflection in it.

I don't see a Dauntless transfer.

I see a childish wannabe, a Candor.

"Hit. Me." I stammer as he lifts the liquid into my mouth. It smells like peroxide and bleach.

"Sweet dreams,"

* * *

I open my eyes slowly. I'm stomach flat on my cafeteria floor, only it's empty and monochrome looking. Like nothing's there. Only there _is _something there. There's a knife the half the length of my arm, and a piece of cheese. I glance outside.

It's raining.

"Choose," a man's voice says. It almost sounds like my father's. I oblige, walking slowly to the knife. I feel weightless and numb, and my feet aren't completely working correctly. But I use all my will, and I grab it.

I hear a low growl behind me.

I turn around, and there's a mutt creeping low, showing crystal clear white fangs directed to my body. I'm lucky I grabbed the knife.

The mutt snarls and the noise radiates in my mind.

I run and jump to it, and it jumps sideways, dodging me.

This will not be an easy fight.

I glare at it in the eyes, and it leaps on me, biting my shoulder. I wince and groan, kicking it off of me and punch it in its snout.

It lands on its back and whimpers, looking defeated. It wants pity. But it's too late.

"Puppy!" I hear as a girl runs to the dog, white dress flapping in the air.

It's too late.

I've already got bloodstains on my hands.

"YOU KILLED MY PUPPY!"

The sight of her fades.

I'm in the training room, only Ed isn't there. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrors that surround me. There's no blood on me, no pain, no weightlessness. I'm disappointed. I want to get out of here. I walk out the door, only I'm on a bus. I sigh and sit down next to a woman reading a newspaper that looks similar to my everyday outfit, and it reads "Brutal Murderer Family Apprehended!"

"Do you know this man?" the woman asks, flipping her black hair out of her eyes.

I look at the picture. It's of a man in his early 30's, at least, with a teardrop tattooed under his left eye and a piercing in his right. I feel as if I've seen him before with my father, but who am I to know?

"Nope, sorry." I say as I set my hand on my knee, looking out the windows. It's still raining like crazy.

"Liar!" She says, standing up to look at me. I feel a smack to my face, and I grin.

It's a bad idea to tell her I think I know, because I have to live. I cannot get tortured.

"Look down at my clothes. Do I lie?" I offer slowly.

She looks ashen as she glances at my clothes. "I'm sorry for accusing you."

"Yes. You should be."


End file.
